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Aaron awoke in a cold sweat. He had once again dreamed about fire. [i]Burning. Cleansing.[/i] Shaking his head, Aaron made sure that he was actually awake, and not in some kind of dream within a dream. The sudden sharp pain in his lower spine reminded him that this was indeed, very much, real life. With a long exhausting sigh, Aaron picked up his old phone to check the time. Maybe he had time to go into a light sleep. The clock read a solid eight o’clock. Almost on the dot. So no extra sleepy time then.

Getting out of bed every morning was a difficult task for the male, who was still very much early in a long recovery path. It took him a good fifteen minutes to sit up, each attempt causing large shooting pains to appear up his left leg and lower back, sometimes forcing him to roll back onto the bed. Eventually he was able to sit up long enough to grab onto his bed support and pull himself onto his feet. It was a ritual that he performed every single morning since the shooting. Using the furniture to help him move around the bedroom, he found his way to his desk, where a conveniently placed pill box lay. Opening the box he took out the pills for early morning slot and swallowed them whole. No water. No fluid. There was little point in wasting time getting a drink with the sheer amount of painkillers that he needed to take. 

Opening his dresser draw, he pulled out several boxes of tablets ready to fill the container for the rest of the week. Opening the first box, and pulling out the sachet jogged his memory: it was empty. With a deep sigh he shoved his fist into the drawer, withdrawing a prescription sheet. Well it looked like his morning was ruined. It took the male a good thirty minutes on his own his clothes on. It was a long and laborious task that resulted in Aaron almost falling over several times. His mother had insisted on them trying to get a nurse to help him get out bed and dressed in the morning, but Aaron refused on the grounds that he didn't want to be more of a financial burden on his mother than he already was. Grabbing onto his black wooden cane, Aaron began to shuffle around the small family home. The home was mostly studio, with the living, dining and kitchen areas rolled into one large room with the bedroom and bathroom breaking off into a corridor at the back. Reaching the dining table he picked up a stack of addressed letters, flicking through them to make sure they were all sealed. Might as well post them while he was moving around town. 

Aaron decided to forgo eating. He could eat when he got back. Right now he wanted to get his tablets and get back, as soon as these wore off, he would have no replacements. Wearing his black hoodie with the hood up, Aaron began to shuffle down the street, and towards the pharmacy in the centre of town. No one took notice of him, but at the same time, everyone took notice of him. It was this strange paradox. No one acknowledged him verbally, but every bystander glared at him. It was a strange sensation, but Aaron had this for years now. People were very unforgiving in this small town. Everyone talked. Everyone gossiped. Aaron Cox was the curse. He was the reason everything was bad in the town. If he just disappeared, everything else would go back to normal. At this point, nothing phased him, and Aaron just kept moving. If someone tried to stop him or make his life awkward, he simply shuffled around them. No one wanted anything to do with him, but at the same time the paradox almost dictated that they make Aaron aware that they don't want him around. 

After almost an hour of shuffling down streets like a hermit, Aaron had reached his destination. Entering the pharmacy the same cold atmosphere that had followed him outside seemingly followed him inside. No one inside wanted to particularly acknowledge  his existence. He handed the pharmacist the prescription slip in complete silence and was greeted with the same silence in return. Two minutes later he had a small bag filled with new tablets and paid for it by swiping his card, all without a single word leaving anyone's lips. 

There was simply one last thing left on his list of things to do. Walking over the nearby postbox, he pulled out the letters he picked up from home from his waist pocket. Giving them a quick flick through to make sure they were all there, he pulled the handle of the box and posted them inside. With a small huff of accomplishment, Aaron turned around and began to make his way back home, at the usual snails pace.